


The Next Stage

by Leela



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-05
Updated: 2011-12-05
Packaged: 2017-10-26 22:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/288716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leela/pseuds/Leela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie doesn't know how to be anything but a dragon keeper, and Kingsley's not allowed to take the job he wants. An unexpected suggestion may be what they both need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Next Stage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angela_snape](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=angela_snape).



> Written for angela_snape in the 2010 Charlieficathon on LJ.
> 
>  **Beta:** eeyore9990

Charlie stood on a mountain ledge, his face tipped towards the sky, and watched his favourite Romanian Longhorn take its first mating flight. He'd broken the shell to birth Raz and had fed him from a bottle after Raz's mother rejected him. Raz was _his_ dragon, and Charlie needed to see him do this. He could live with just about anything as long as he knew he'd done this right, and Raz would live and mate and survive.

Their mating dance was spectacular. Amelie led Raz on a race through the mountain range — swooping, spiralling, and diving — making Raz prove that he was worthy of her. She hid in clumps of trees and behind enormous rock falls. Each time, Raz found her and chased her out. The pursuit lasted for hours, accompanied by smoke and flames and the — painful to human ears — screeches of dragons in heat.

Morning became afternoon, and Charlie stayed. Until a trumpeting noise filled the air, announcing to dragons and humans alike that Raz had captured his mate, had become an adult in the eyes of the herd.

As he celebrated his dragon's success, smiling and toasting Raz and Amelie with a bottle of Tsuika, Charlie's heart ached.

He was thirty-six years old, and he'd just performed his last official act as a dragon keeper at the Romanian Dragon Research Centre.

~*~

  
"You're telling me that I'm not allowed to take the job?" Kingsley stared down his nose at Percy Weasley, but Percy refused to be intimidated.

"As a former Minister for Magic, you can't take any job that requires you to move away from England." Percy adjusted his glasses. "Didn't you read the fine print attached to the position?"

"Fine print?" growled Kingsley.

Reaching for his wand, Percy tapped a sequence on the upper-right corner of his desk blotter. A tightly rolled scroll materialised in front of him. He unrolled it and glanced at the contents before offering it to Kingsley. "To date, there are thirty-four sections, forty-two subsections, and one hundred and twenty-six miscellaneous addenda. Each clause is written in increasingly smaller font, according to its importance, of course."

"Of course." Kingsley ignored the parchment.

Percy placed the scroll to one side and adjusted his glasses again. "I'm sure you'll be able to find an equally challenging position in England."

"Equally... challenging?" Kingsley reminded himself that Percy's parents were good friends and might miss their middle son if he disappeared. "I was going to head the International Bureau of Wizarding Welfare. In Zurich."

Something like regret clouded Percy's pompous expression. "I know, and I'm sorry. But the wards of Wizarding Britain are linked to the magic of those who are or have been Ministers for Magic. Since your predecessors are all deceased, you cannot be permitted an exception. The consequences could be catastrophic."

Before he said or did something he regretted, Kingsley spun around and walked out of Percy's office and the Ministry.

~*~

  
Charlie spent the first month after leaving Romania sitting around the Burrow, feeling sorry for himself, and wishing that he hadn't had that fight with the director of the Research Centre that had led to him being fired. On his more honest, and slightly more sober, days, he admitted that there was no way he could have kept his mouth shut while the budget was being slashed and the dragons endangered.

But he hadn't exactly picked the most diplomatic moment to speak up. Storming the meeting of the board of directors had been a blast. Embarrassing the director in front of the board and the President of Wizarding Romania had been even better. Charlie had ridden that high for weeks, until the director decided that the Research Centre no longer needed him, and Charlie was out on his arse.

At least the dragons got their money, Charlie thought, uncapping another bottle of Bragge's Best Ale. That made it possible for him to convince himself that the sacrifice was worth it. Some days, anyway.

He spun the bottle cap into the air, then reached up and captured it.

All those years of working with the dragons, living at the centre, and taking few holidays had left him with a substantial bank account. Enough that he could live in relative comfort for several years, even if he decided not to work.

Tossing the bottle cap into the air, he took a gulp of his beer and then caught the cap. Tossed, drank, caught — again and again.

He'd been back in England for three months. The temporary excitement of moving to a cottage just outside of Godric's Hollow was long gone, and Charlie was going stir-crazy. He needed something to do. Damn that fucking rat-bastard of a director for blacklisting him. Every dragon reserve in the world had turned him down, claiming a lack of funds. Even that pokey little place in Wales had rejected him — the day before running an advert for dragon keepers in the _Prophet_.

It wasn't as if he was qualified to do anything else. His Quidditch days were long gone, and George had told him in no uncertain terms not to bother coming back after two weeks of working at the shop. Good riddance to that job, as far as Charlie was concerned. Fucking school kids were worse than dragons.

Charlie tossed the cap back into the air, closed his eyes, listened, and caught it just before it hit the table.

Then he Banished the empty to the bin in the corner and reached for another bottle.

~*~

  
"I didn't kill the messenger, if that's what you're here to ask." Kingsley let Arthur Weasley into his house. Without looking back to make sure Arthur was following, he walked down the hall and into the kitchen.

Kingsley's favourite room in the house, the kitchen was bright and sunny. Pride of place was divided between his Aga and his great-aunt's well-scrubbed, solid pine kitchen table.

"It's not Percy I'm here about." Arthur sat down at the table. That he took the chair at the head of the table amused Kingsley. He was sure that Arthur hadn't even noticed.

"Oh?" As he joined Arthur, Kingsley waved his wand in the direction of the Aga and muttered the spell that reduced the flame under his split pea soup as low as possible. An extra hour or so of simmering could only do it good.

"Smells good," Arthur said.

"Soup usually does, but that's not what you're here for."

"True, I..." Arthur hesitated and looked around. "Could we have some tea? Would you mind?"

Instead of casting the usual charm, Kingsley hid his concern by getting up to fill the kettle. He fiddled and fussed, taking his time over the tealeaves and the teapot, setting out a tray, and a plate with biscuits. But, eventually, there was nothing more to do except take it back to the table and ask, "Is everything all right?"

Before Arthur could answer, the Floo flared into life and a few minutes later, after setting out cups for Minerva McGonagall and Xiomara Hooch, Kingsley was seriously worried. Minerva was even more taciturn than usual, and Xiomara kept tapping her fingers on the table in a most annoying way.

When everyone had a cup of tea, Kingsley pushed his chair back, purposefully scraping the legs on the wooden floor to catch their attention. "Not that I don't appreciate the company, but this feels like an intervention," he said. "I've only been out of office for a couple of weeks, and since I didn't hex Percy when he told me I couldn't accept the IBWW job, I'm assuming that you're here about someone else."

They exchanged glances. Minerva cleared her throat and then sipped her tea. Arthur added another teaspoon of sugar to his tea and stirred it assiduously. Xiomara drummed her fingers a little harder on the table.

Pitching his voice low, employing the same tone he'd used in many Auror interrogations and to intimidate politicians around the world, Kingsley suggested, "Why don't you tell me what's going on?"

"Why don't you get out the decent drink first," Minerva responded, pushing her teacup away. "I'll not be sharing secrets on this slop."

A few flicks of Kingsley's wand, and everyone had a glass and a finger or two of whisky. "Tell me," Kingsley said, "and no more excuses."

There was silence for a moment, then Minerva said, "Charlie Weasley."

"Charlie?" An image filled Kingsley's memory: of freckles and tattoos, tousled red hair and tanned skin. "The dragon keeper?"

"Former dragon keeper." Arthur sighed. "Apparently there were threats of a budget cut, and Charlie couldn't keep his mouth shut and wait for the experts to sort it out."

"He's a mess." Xiomara picked up her whisky and glared at it.

Arthur said, "Charlie wasn't made to sit around the house. He needs to be up and out and doing things. And dragons are out, for a while at least."

"Blacklisted," Minerva added.

More than a little intrigued and confused about why they'd come to him, Kingsley asked, "And you want me to do what, exactly?"

"Hire him," responded Arthur.

"To do what? It's not as if I have a job."

"That's easily taken care of." Minerva held out her glass for Kingsley to refill.

"It is, is it?"

Xiomara smiled at him — the kind of smile that sent shivers down Kingsley's spine. "You'll teach the children, of course."

"Muggle-born and Muggle-raised children," Arthur added in explanation. "They need information about magic and our world before they get to Hogwarts."

"Children," Kingsley repeated, torn between horror at the idea of being responsible for a large group of preteens and desire to continue making a difference.

"Children who need you." Minerva patted his arm, obviously trying to reassure him. "Hogwarts will provide space for a residential summer program, but you will have to hire your own staff and design your own program. Our summer holidays are sacrosanct."

Kingsley delayed — checking on his soup, pouring a fresh round of drinks, and putting out a plate of tea bread and biscuits — but he already knew he'd accept. He couldn't resist the challenge or the chance to get to know Charlie Weasley better.

~*~

  
A pop, a loud chime, the harsh scrape of curtains being pulled back, and a sharp spear of sunlight piercing his eyeballs all attempted to wake Charlie out of a sound sleep. He grunted and rolled over, pulling the covers up and over his head. When the covers disappeared, he stuck his head under his pillow. When the pillow was Banished, he growled, "Fuck. Off. George!"

"It's not George."

The deep voice sounded far more amused than ought to be legal, Charlie decided. "Then what the hell are you doing in my house at this time in the morning?"

"Nor is it morning."

"Get. Out." Charlie squeezed his eyes shut and tried to remember if he'd set his wards before stumbling into bed the night before.

"Shall I move onto the next stage, or will you get up of your own accord?"

"Next stage?" Covering his eyes with one forearm, Charlie groped along the bed and onto the bedside table with his other hand, trying to locate his wand so he could raise the wards and Banish the unwanted intruder.

A thud against the bedpost sent vibrations pounding through Charlie's head. "There's coffee downstairs in the kitchen," his tormentor offered, "and Pepper-Up potion for now."

Before Charlie could cudgel his brain cells into coming up with a suitable reply, a phial was thrust into the hand that was still feeling around on the bedside table. He grunted a thank you and downed the contents of the phial. After a few seconds of heat running through his veins, steam bursting out his ears, burning out the poisons, he rolled over.

The bedroom was empty. Which could only mean that the arse who'd woken him up was downstairs.

Moving slowly and carefully, he stumbled bleary-eyed into the bathroom. When he emerged, a large mug of coffee was sitting on top of his chest of drawers. Cradling it in both hands, Charlie inhaled deeply.

He took a sip and groaned with pleasure. Black, no sugar, just the right temperature for drinking, and so much better than the shite he'd been buying from the local shop. Charlie raised the mug in a mock-toast to his benefactor and knocked back its contents in one long gulp.

"Good," he murmured. "Brilliant, even."

Halfway to the door, he realised that he didn't have any clothes on. The decision to take a few seconds and snag a pair of cut-off jeans was extremely difficult.

He needed more of that coffee.

~*~

  
After glancing at the inside of Charlie's cottage, Kingsley was tempted to turn around and go home. But then he actually looked and realised that the place was clean underneath the mess. Beer bottles — empty and full — were scattered everywhere. Almost every surface was covered, by Quidditch magazines, past editions of the _Prophet_ and the _Quibbler_ , and a series of increasingly bizarre figures that appeared to have been shaped from nothing more than bottle caps and Sticking charms.

He was fairly sure that a couple of the figures were supposed to be dragons, but the rest bore no resemblance to anything found in nature. Curious, he examined one of the dragon-like figures. It was almost half a metre tall. A string of caps curled across the top of a low bookshelf, thickening into what could be a body as it rose into the air, then curving over into a head. Stubby arms and legs completed the figure. With no small amount of trepidation, he conjured a pointer and poked at it.

"Careful with those," warned Charlie, just as the figure's "mouth" snapped — not at the pointer but the fingers on Kingsley's other hand, which had been perilously close. "I was experimenting with some charms last night."

"Interesting—" Kingsley hesitated when he saw Charlie standing in the doorway, barefoot and shirtless, a dragon tattoo peering over one shoulder, and red curls showing through the vee of his partly fastened jeans. His libido reminded him that he was no longer Minister, no longer had to worry about the reaction of the average British wizard, that he could and should indulge his desires. And that Charlie Weasley was very desirable.

"Coffee?" asked Charlie, the plaintive note in his voice breaking through Kingsley's distraction. "You said there was more."

Kingsley smiled. Then, noticing the slight widening of Charlie's eyes and hearing the faint intake of breath, smiled even wider. Maybe, just maybe, this could turn into more than a favour for some old friends.

~*~

  
Around the middle of his third cup of coffee, Charlie became aware of three things: that his jeans were undone, showing far more of his body than was even remotely acceptable; that he desperately needed a shower; and that Kingsley Shacklebolt was big enough and confident enough to be exactly Charlie's type.

The last realisation came to him as he was sitting at his own kitchen table, watching the deft movements of those large hands as Kingsley cooked. Late breakfast, late lunch, or early tea, Charlie didn't care what Kingsley called it, as long as he got to eat some of those homemade sausages Kingsley had unpacked from his FridgePack. If they tasted half as good as they smelt, Charlie knew he'd be in a small piece of heaven.

Still, his mum had raised him with company manners and to observe at least a minimum of the proprieties. He slid sideways, so that the table prevented Kingsley from seeing what he was up to, and shifted around as quietly as possible. He got his cock and bollocks into a position where he could do up the remaining buttons. The first was easy; the second...

"Fuck," he yelled as doing up the second button yanked out the hairs that were trapped in the first — hairs that had once been attached to his bollocks. He grabbed at the table, almost falling out of his seat, as the attempt to undo the buttons caught even more hairs and the sharp pain brought tears to his eyes. He pressed down on his button fly, trying to ease the pressure and the pain, and muttered, "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck."

"Charlie?"

Blinking to clear his eyes, unable to be coherent, Charlie growled at Kingsley, who had knelt down between his legs.

"Let go, Charlie." Kingsley's hand was gentle, taking great care as he encouraged Charlie to let go of his jeans.

With an effort, Charlie blurted out, "Hairs."

"All right," Kingsley reassured him. "Just let go, and I'll take care of it."

Charlie forced himself to release his grip and to allow Kingsley to move his hand away.

"I'm not going to promise this won't hurt."

"Wouldn't believe you." From years of experience at being treated in the field, Charlie knew he had to give his hands something to do, or he'd end up trying to 'help' Kingsley. So, he reached up and grabbed onto the top rung of his chair back. "Do it," he gritted out.

Kingsley inserted a finger into the space below the bottom button and curled another into the opening above the second button, holding the placket stiff. The warmth of his skin against Charlie's made Charlie hiss.

"All right?" Kingsley asked.

"Keep going."

Kingsley's hands were deft and gentle, and Charlie was sure he worked on the buttons of Charlie's jeans forever. The constant touch and occasional twitch of Kingsley's finger, the pressure and release as Kingsley worked to undo the buttons, it was torture and it was pleasure. At a certain point, feeling his skin flush and his cock harden, Charlie had to close his eyes. If he hadn't been so turned on, he would have been mortified, he was sure.

~*~

  
The sausages were going to burn, but Kingsley couldn't give a damn. He was touching Charlie, feeling the heat coming off his skin, causing a reaction, the right reaction.

Undoing the buttons wasn't hard, but prolonging his touch, finding ways to manipulate Charlie's cock and bollocks through the heavy denim took a little more thought. Eventually, though, after buttons were finished, the hairs had been released, and he'd run out of excuses, Kingsley rocked back onto his heels, rose to his feet, and just looked.

Charlie was sprawled out on the chair. His legs stretched on either side of Kingsley, his bum rested on the edge of the seat, and his back was arched slightly so he could reach over his head and grip the back of the chair. His eyes were closed, his skin was flushed, his breathing a little faster than normal, and his hard cock was clearly visible under its covering of denim.

His own cock twitching, reminding him of how long it had been, Kingsley took a chance. He rested his left hand on the table, then stretched out his right hand and laid it on top of Charlie's cock.

Charlie gasped, and Kingsley smiled.

"I want you," he said, slipping his thumb inside the opening of Charlie's jeans and tracing a line up the side of Charlie's cock.

"Mmmm," Charlie hummed, pushed his hips into Kingsley's hand, and opened his eyes to reveal blown pupils. Then, holding Kingsley's gaze with his own, he licked his lips — a slow, lascivious swipe of his tongue that went straight to Kingsley's cock.

"Yes or no?"

"Hell, yes."

Leaving his hands where they were, Kingsley leant down and kissed Charlie. The reaction was immediate for both of them. Kingsley's cock grew hard enough that his trousers and pants felt too tight, and Charlie just seemed to open up. Kingsley found himself prolonging the kiss, licking and sucking, enjoying the touch, the taste, the textures of Charlie's lips and mouth.

But, eventually, leaning over became too much, too awkward, too hard on his back, so Kingsley firmed his stance, took his hands off the table and Charlie's cock — ignoring the groan — and reached down to lift him out of the chair and onto the table.

"Oh fuck," Charlie moaned, and then looped his arms around Kingsley's shoulders and pulled him down for another kiss.

 _Fuck indeed_ , Kingsley thought as he bent down and pressed Charlie into the table. As they kissed, as Charlie's tongue invaded his mouth and sent arousal washing through his body, Kingsley reached between them and began to undo his trousers and free his cock.

~*~

  
When Kingsley lifted him, when he tensed his muscles and just picked him up, Charlie was more turned on than he'd been in his entire life. If Kingsley had so much as touched his cock, Charlie would have come right there and then.

"Oh fuck," he moaned as he was laid out on the kitchen table, reaching up to pull Kingsley down for another kiss. Hot and wet, aching and sloppy, the feel of Kingsley's lips and tongue was perfect.

Then Kingsley had both of their cocks out, slicked by a spell and wrapped in one of his big hands. Charlie bucked his hips, wanting to feel his cock move against so much warm flesh. Then, unable to help himself, he bucked again and again, his hips rising and falling, faster and faster, until he knew nothing except the harsh sounds of their breathing, the feeling of Kingsley's oh-so-warm need, the friction of his cock against Kingsley's squeezing, tugging hand.

Bollocks drawing up, his cock straining, Charlie shoved into Kingsley's hand one more time. A last slide of skin against skin, another tightening of Kingsley's hand, and orgasm shuddered through him. Just as the Fire charm went off, and smoke rose from the pan of sausages.

~*~

  
After the kitchen had been cleaned, and food ordered from the local chippie and eaten, Kingsley sat back in his chair and watched Charlie wipe up the last of the brown sauce off his plate with a slice of bread and butter.

The sex had been an impulse and not one that he regretted, but it had left him feeling... he didn't even know how to describe it. Incomplete, perhaps, or unsatisfied? Wanting more, definitely, but wanting more from Charlie rather than the general want he was used to feeling.

"See something you like?" Charlie grinned at him.

For a second, Kingsley was tempted to say no, to deny this strange desire for something more than a one-off he could feel growing inside himself, to walk away and not look back. But then Charlie stretched and a green dragon tattoo peered over his shoulder and winked at Kingsley, and Kingsley found himself laughing and agreeing and wanting to explore those tattoos.

With a flick of his wand, Charlie sent the dishes over to the sink and set the charms to wash them. He sat for a moment, staring down at the wand he was turning over and over in his hands, before looking up at Kingsley. The amusement had been wiped away from his expression and he seemed serious, determined, and Kingsley could understand how he'd been able to control dragons for so many years.

"You came for a reason," Charlie said, "and I assume that reason has something to do with my parents."

"Your father," Kingsley agreed. "Although he has nothing to do with what just happened."

The grin edged its way back across Charlie's face, lopsided this time and accompanied by an exaggerated shudder. "Merlin, I hope not."

Kingsley grinned back.

"We could shower before we talk about whatever job it is you came here to offer me," suggested Charlie.

"Your father and some friends offered me a chance to run a residential summer camp for Muggle-born and Muggle-raised kids going to Hogwarts."

"Kids?" The legs of Charlie's chair squeaked against the floor as he shoved it back from the table, ready to get up. "I don't do well with kids. Ask George."

"You'd be teaching them, not trying to sell parlour tricks and prank sweets to them." Kingsley's satisfied smile sent arousal curling through Charlie. "A reasonable level of discipline would be required on their part."

"Teaching them about magic and the Wizarding World before they're dropped right in it?" We've been needing something like that for years."

"Decades even." Kingsley stood up and walked around the table to hold his hand out to Charlie. "I could use someone with your talents. Assuming you can stand working with me, of course."

"I think I could stand doing a lot with you," Charlie said, then stood up and groaned at his own pun. "Assuming you can forgive me for inheriting the Weasley tendency towards bad jokes."

Deciding that there was no good response to that, Kingsley kissed Charlie instead.

~fin~


End file.
